


3E 253, 12th Sun’s Dawn

by Saquira



Series: The MoT Elder Scrolls 'verse [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Blood Drinking, Gen, Siblings, The Glenmoril Coven, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 08:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7501596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saquira/pseuds/Saquira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Consciousness came slowly in the darkness, and though the changes were subtle at first they grew greater as she regained her senses. Her body felt like lead to her mind, but the confining closeness of wood was gone. The roof of her prison, the wooden lid of that infernal box, had been removed, and she put what little energy remained for her to use in order to sit up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on December 19th, 2013 on chorrol.com.

Consciousness came slowly in the darkness, and though the changes were subtle at first they grew greater as she regained her senses. Her body felt like lead to her mind, but the confining closeness of wood was gone. The roof of her prison, the wooden lid of that infernal box, had been removed, and she put what little energy remained for her to use in order to sit up.  
  
Finally having done so, she drew in a breath and surveyed her surroundings. The place was familiar to her, a crypt more grand than most, for it was the one built by her family during the second era. The Moorhart family crypt, situated only a few kilometers from the estate.  
  
She remembered then, just what had happened before they put her in the casket, and there was a sound of crumpling paper as she curled her hands into fists. Sorcalin and his angry and panicked gaze, the elders raging on about why the laws were created. Then the man who she’d thought loved her, red-eyed now, turning away when they finally proclaimed the sentence and brought her out of the house. 200 years beneath the ground as a punishment for turning someone against their will. Longer because he was so influential, but how could she have known that he was one of the psijic?  
  
The first time in the coffin had been excruciating, lying there for weeks as her body ran out of blood to keep it running. Scorching heat in her throat and being unable to quench the fire. Then finally, blessed oblivion as she entered the long sleep. There had been moments of wakefulness in which she’d pounded on the wooden lid before once again succumbing to the darkness, but she had never been fully awake during them. Now, the thought of 200 years having passed… It was incomprehensible.  
  
A light flickered in the door to the entry hall, and footsteps sounded out to herald the coming of another person. When a man appeared in the doorway, she frowned, for she did not recognise the vampire. Her light-sensitive eyes had no troubles with seeing anything in the darkness, and it was a youthful face that greeted her. Aside from the lack of wrinkles – that only told of the fact that he ate regularly – there was a certain springiness in his steps and curiosity in his eyes that could only ever be found in someone who’d yet to face the many difficulties of life.  
  
Her beloved had moved with a smooth gait, not hurrying nor spending any extra energy, for he had the time to live his life well. He was an elf, and thus blessed with a long life, unless someone robbed him of it prematurely. As she thought of him from her place in the coffin, a surge of anger clouded her gaze, and she imagined for a moment how it would feel to rip out his heart. The thought must have showed on her face, for when she looked at the young man again he was frowning.  
  
“Lady Elyzara Moorhart?” he asked, and she smiled at him as she slowly stepped out of the wooden box. Her body creaked as she did so, her skin crinkling slightly where it was moved the most.  
  
“Yes. And you are?” she asked as she finally managed to manoeuvrer her fragile body out of the coffin, not really caring for the answer. She stepped onto the floor and found she was quite unsteady as she reached her hand out to the young man.  
  
“I am Leon, my lady. I serve your brother,” he said as he took her hand and kissed it in greeting, wisely ignoring the texture of her skin as he straightened up and withdrew a bottle from the folds of his clothing. It caused her gum to itch, and once again the slow fire in her throat was brought to the front of her mind as her teeth began to lengthen slightly. The bottle was tightly sealed, but in her starved state her sensitive senses had no trouble in finding the faint scent.  
  
“And what of my father?” she asked as she accepted the bottle, using her fingers to pull the cork out and then putting the bottle containing the exquisite life juice up to touch her lips. Wisely, the younger vampire waited to talk until she had finished the drink, finally licking her lips to make certain that not a drop was lost, savouring the intoxicating taste.  
  
“He was lost on the field of battle some years ago, milady.” She stilled for a moment, then gave a brief nod – face still unchanged – and began her walk out of the crypt.  
  
“I trust my chambers have been set in order, I’m looking forward to a bath,” she said, and the man nodded as he followed after her.  
  
“Yes, and your brother has asked that you see him in the pavilion once you’re presentable.” She nodded, not truly paying attention as her feet followed the familiar path to her bedchamber. For her thoughts where many miles away, across the border in Cyrodiil, where the cause of her imprisonment was sure to reside. Only one thought held much value for her, the same one that’d kept her sane during her bouts of wakefulness. For there was no greater balm than that of sweet revenge, to once again taste the blood flowing through his veins and to tear that handsome head off his shoulders. Had she the choice, his suffering would be a mirror of hers, to writhe in pain as thirst tore him apart beneath the cold ground, but she was no fool. She knew very well of the power held within him, and so only through subterfuge and the power of surprise would she bring him down. And perhaps the surprise on his face would be enough to make up for the screams. Perhaps, for once, settling for second best would be enough.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun was standing low in the sky by the time she approached the pavilion which her brother had apparently taken to using as his office. It was closed off from the rest of the building by a heavy wooden door, and in the time she’d been kept under ground no sign had been put up to tell that her brother had taken over the room. Only because Leon had told her did she now know that this was where her twin resided, and that thought stung no matter how she thought of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on April 19th, 2015 on chorrol.com.

The sun was standing low in the sky by the time she approached the pavilion which her brother had apparently taken to using as his office. It was closed off from the rest of the building by a heavy wooden door, and in the time she’d been kept under ground no sign had been put up to tell that her brother had taken over the room. Only because Leon had told her did she now know that this was where her twin resided, and that thought stung no matter how she thought of it.   
  
She knocked only twice on the door and did not wait for his call before stepping inside, and though she clearly heard his exasperated sigh at her manners she did not look at him as her gaze took in the old room.  
  
Though the furniture and decorations had changed, the shape and layout of the room had remained largely the same over the last two hundred years. A short path lined by glass walls led out to the circular room that was almost completely encased in transparent glass panels to let in the light but prevent the rays from burning the inhabitants of the room. A couple of low bookshelves were placed by the walls, and a large desk faced the doors with a couple of chairs having been placed in front of it. A cupboard with glass panes in the doors held glasses and a few bottles of wine, and several pots with plants were placed around the room.  
  
Finally, her eyes landed on him, and he was watching her openly with his crimson eyes. Periene had hardly changed in the many years since they’d last seen each other. His clothing was radically different of course, but his face was lined by the same smooth lines and he still held the same stature. He'd cut his red hair shorter since they last met, but his eyes were neither lighter nor darker, and he still made no effort to conceal them unless he had to. Now they watched her with far more wariness than she'd ever expected they could.   
  
He was composed, pragmatic and had little patience for emotional fools. All traits she admired, none that she shared. And for that she loathed them as well. The only thing marking them as anything but polite acquaintances was their blood, as well as the status and physical traits that accompanied it. Though with the passing of two centuries her ambitious brother was certain to have far surpassed her when it came to their respective status within the coven.   
  
“So, our mother's pavilion,” she stated simply as her eyes met his and he raised his eyebrows in a silent question. “I did not expect that it'd ever see much use.”  
  
“Well, after our fathers death there truly wasn't much reason to keep it locked any longer,” he uttered, and Elyzara nodded slowly as she hummed in agreement.   
  
“Indeed, Leon told me of that. He did not tell me of our sisters however, where are they?” she asked. Periene sighed, finally dropping the quill he held in his hand, and rested his elbows on the desk as he leant slightly forward.   
  
“Lysee passed away in 127. She never wanted to become a vampire, and so she stayed human until the end. Morgan, the last time I heard from her some 23 years ago, was in Sentinel. Assuming of course that I remember correctly. I believe she was looking into acquiring some rare old book, she's always liked those after all.” Elyzara's lips pursed as she sunk down into one of the chairs in front of the desk, her eyes narrowing into a glare as they looked at each other.  
  
“Lysee died of old age. You did not make her a vampire?” she asked angrily, her fury only increasing as her brother continued to watch her impassively.  
  
“She did not wish to share our existence, and neither I nor Morgan were inclined to force the matter,” he said with a shrug, as if though that was all there was to it. But Elyzara was not so easy to appease.   
  
“Morgan I can understand, she has always coddled our youngest sister. But you... I expected more from you,” Elyzara growled through gritted teeth as her brothers expression grew harder and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.  
  
“I would never perform such heinous an act as turning someone against their will, sister. We have our rules for a reason, and I've no intention of breaking them. You'd do well to follow them from here on out if you wish to stay out of that box.” Elyzara let out a startled laugh at his words, her lips forming a grimace as she rose from the chair abruptly to lean in over the desk.  
  
“You would put me back there?! Your twin? Is this your way of telling me to stay away from Sorcalin, or else..?” she growled out.  
  
“You may have been a vampire longer than him, but he's still older. And he hasn't spent the last two centuries in a wooden box. He would see you coming, and the coven would not only loose an asset, I would loose a sister. I will not let more of my family die,” Periene said, finally raising his voice in the first expression of anger he'd expressed for a very long time. But not even in the face of his anger did she falter.  
  
“You think so little of me..? Is that it? Well I hardly need your blessing to shed blood, brother,” she spat out, not giving him any opportunity to speak as she pushed herself away from the desk and headed for the door. He considered stopping her, but gave it up as a useless endeavour as he settled back in his chair and she left through the door in a rage.  
  
Periene found himself watching the door for a whole minute after his sister had once again passed through it, then he rolled his eyes to give voice to his frustration as he turned his eyes from the door to the small hand-held mirror lying upon his desk. He was already calling on the spell when his hand touched the silver frame, hushed words slipping from his lips without hesitation as the surface of the mirror grew murky. A couple of minutes passed while he sat waiting, until finally the reflective surface cleared and showed not his own face but instead a stone roof and a glimpse of bookshelves along the edges. The only sign of his discontent was the downward twitch of his lips as he had to wait yet another couple of minutes before a female face appeared above the mirror, looking down into it curiously. He noted the cropped brown hair and the smudge of ink upon her cheek with silent displeasure as her brows rose in surprise at the sight of him.   
  
“You've cut your hair.” It occurred to Periene that it was not the best greeting he could have offered her, but he knew just as well that no amount of pretty words would enamour her to him. An annoyed expression came upon her face at the comment before turning into a faintly visible sneer as she narrowed her eyes at him.  
  
“Indeed, I did it myself. Do you like it?” she asked mockingly, being more than aware of his views on the matter. Though he felt the slow burn of the anger only his youngest sister could call forth, he did his best to ignore it in light of the favour he wished to ask of her.   
  
“Cropping ones hair is not...” He hardly had time to get started before she interrupted him.  
  
“...Is not fitting for a lady of the Moorhart family, nor for a vampire of the Glenmoril coven. Did I forget any part of the lecture, or is there anything more you need to remind me of?” He pursed his lips, but refrained from answering. “Now, why did you call me brother? Is it 253 already?”  
  
“You forgot what year it is?” he asked in disbelief, his brows furrowing as he looked at her. She visibly gritted her teeth, huffing out a breath as the view changed angle as she picked up her mirror and sat down in a chair.  
  
“I've more important things to think about. What is a year here or there when you've got an eternity to look forward too? I assume however that you're contacting me to discuss Zara. Her sentence was settled at 200 years, was it not?” The brunette let go of her annoyance quickly, her face taking on the same neutral expression that tended to occupy his face most of the time.   
  
“Indeed it was. And I just finished a pleasant conversation during which she could think of little else but the murder of her former beloved.” Periene found himself rolling his eyes as he lifted his mirror further and leaned back slightly in his chair, making sure that the mirror still captured his face.  
  
“That sounds like Zara. What I don't understand is why you are coming to me.” Her voice hardly changed, her lips forming a slight genuine smile for barely a moment before the political expression was back.   
  
“You were always able to rein her in, in the past. I believe the coven will require your aid in doing so once again,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, and had to fight to keep his annoyance hidden when she rolled her eyes.  
  
“And what makes you think I would wish to help the coven?” she asked with a sigh.  
  
“You and I may not get along, sister, but we are still family. The coven is family.” Periene was once again reminded of why it'd been 23 years since they last spoke as he raised his hand to rub at his forehead in an attempt to stave of the inevitable head ache he'd come to associate with family. He looked back at the mirror just in time to notice the tight set of her jaw and the hateful glare in her eyes before she spoke once again.  
  
“Then tell me brother, how many witches have the coven lost in last ten years? How many hagravens have been born? How many vampires of the Wyrd have succumbed to their blood lust and gone feral?” she practically growled out, and for a moment he almost expected her to bare her fangs at him.  
  
“Morgan...” he began in exasperation, but she shook her head abruptly to stop him as his eyes lingered on the growing moisture in her eyes.  
  
“Save your petty excuses, brother. I will tell Sorcalin she's coming for him. But I'll be doing it for him, not for the coven,” she ground out through her teeth and Periene nodded, content to take whatever small victory he'd ever be allowed to have by his younger sister.  
  
“Very well. I'm certain that the elders will be grateful. I only wish you would not distrust us so,” he said, already thinking on the letters he'd have to send before the days end to tell the elders of what had transpired.  
  
“Whatever trust I ever had for the coven disappeared a century ago, you know that.” When he once again turned his eyes to meet hers, neither the anger in her eyes nor the sorrow in his was concealed. He nodded once, not having anything else to say on the matter. The anger dissipated from her eyes quickly to be replaced by sadness. “Well brother. As I assume that was all you wished to speak of, I'll be going. Do take care of yourself.” She didn't give him any time to speak before the image disappeared and he found himself staring down at his own face.  
  
“And you as well, sister,” he uttered quietly into the empty room, hand reaching out to put the mirror back down onto the desk. Then his elbows came to rest upon the wooden surface as he rested his head in his hands in a rare moment of weakness before once again schooling his expression and turning back to the many documents before him.


End file.
